by Pandora Pine
“Let’s talk to him, Ronan. Find out what his end game is. Maybe all he wants is for his mother to spread his ashes in the ocean or in the outfield at Fenway,” Carson said, his voice sounding hopeful.
“It can’t be that simple.” When it came to Rod Jacobson, nothing was that simple. “If we do this, I want to be in on it. I don’t want Tennyson doing this alone,” Ronan declared.
“Same goes for Carson,” Truman said softly.
“Fine. Let’s do it here then.” Tennyson looked around the room at his friends. “I’ve been trying to think of a place to channel him and obviously our house and Carson’s house are out, so is the shop, since Cole’s family lives in the apartment above it. The hospital is filled will all kinds of spirits as it is. What does everyone think?”
“We’re in,” Fitzgibbon said. Greeley nodded.
“Us too,” Carson agreed.
“Ronan?” Tennyson turned to his fiancé.
Ronan nodded. He knew when he was outvoted.
39
The boy’s right shoulder ached. So did his ribs. He had no idea why. That wasn’t exactly true, he had some idea, but the details were a little fuzzy. The voice had sent him to Salem to watch Greeley Fitzgibbon. It had been the most boring job ever. The goody-two-shoes hadn’t left the house all day. Surely boredom hadn’t caused his aching arm.
His head ached too, but then again, it always ached lately. Trying to remember what the hell happened last night was only making it ache more. All of this thinking wasn’t helping any shred of memory come back. The last thing he remembered was seeing Greeley sitting at the dining room table talking to Ronan’s ridiculous dog. The damn thing looked more like a rat than a dog.
His other big question was where the fuck was he? When he’d woken up ten minutes ago, he found himself in a shitty motel room, the kind that didn’t have monogrammed stationary on the desk blotter, but probably did have cockroaches and come-stained bed linens.
Why the fuck does it matter where you are? No one knows you’re here. Shut up and be grateful!
He’d started to wonder when the voice would chime in. “Why does it matter that no one knows where I am?”
“What do you think you were out doing tonight? Planting rosebushes?”
“Did I kill him? Did I kill Greeley?” The boy felt a rush of adrenaline surge through his entire body. That would be quite an accomplishment if he could do something Jacobson had never been able to do in life: kill Greeley Fitzgibbon.
No, you didn’t kill Greeley. The lucky bastard got his arm up at the last minute, so the bat hit that, instead of his skull...
“Is that why I’m so sore?” the boy asked.
The voice laughed. It was a mean-spirited sound. No, you’re sore because the boy has the luck of the angels.
“Luck of the angels?” That made no sense. Sometimes the boy thought the voice was off his fucking rocker. Maybe some of those mainstream media articles were right after all. Maybe Jacobson really was all of those things they said he was and not the misunderstood genius with the heart of gold the boy thought him to be.
Truman Wesley ran into the yard swinging a bat of his own and he hit you with it. Thankfully you’re a fast runner otherwise you might have been caught. Remaining free is your number one priority at the moment. To be honest, it is the only reason I’m still with you.
“Fuck you, Jacobson,” Mark muttered as he paced around the dirty room. The boy was starting to wonder what the hell he’d ever seen in Rod Jacobson in the first place. This little joint venture wasn’t turning out the way he’d envisioned it. Jacobson wasn’t the kind, loving mentor he’d promised he’d be. Instead, he was just an asshole like all of the other men who’d fucked him. The only difference now was that he was getting fucked and not paid for his time or trouble.
Not with a stolen dick... The voice laughed again. You’re here to serve a purpose, you ridiculous child. Did you actually think a man like me would fall in love with a dirty whore like you?
Anger churned in his gut. He wasn’t a child. He hadn’t been in a long time. “Get out of my brain! Get out of my body! I cast you out!” Mark screamed.
The voice laughed. This isn’t a movie. The director isn’t going to yell cut. You’re stuck with me forever, kiddo. Or at least until my vile soul sucks the life force out of you and you drop dead.
Was that possible? Could Jacobson’s spirit drain the life out of him? “No! NO!” Mark ran to the desk and picked up the phone. He dialed the number he knew by heart. There was only one person he could turn to for help. He could only pray now that person would answer the phone. “Daddy?”
40
Tennyson
Tennyson still couldn’t believe Ronan had agreed to this reading. He snorted. It wasn’t a reading per se. It was more of a seance. A spiritual kidnapping, to be more precise. A baiting. Sort of like when you left bird seed out and hoped that a gorgeous northern cardinal would show up in your yard.
It was just like that, only Tennyson was hoping to snare one of the blackest souls he’d ever had the misfortune of encountering: Rod Jacobson.
When visiting hours had ended at the hospital last night, everyone had gone back to Carson’s house. They’d packed up the babies’ portable cribs and everyone spent the night at Ronan and Tennyson’s house.
Ten would never admit it to anyone but Ronan, but he’d loved having the babies at their house for the night. He’d spent the night catnapping and every time he woke up, he’d walk down the hall to the room Carson and the babies had commandeered as their own. He’d checked on the sleeping infants and couldn’t help chuckling over the way Sadie and Dixie were standing guard over them, as were Bertha and Erin.
Once the sun came up, Fitzgibbon had cooked everyone a big breakfast. Greeley manned the bacon and toast, doing a fair job with just one working arm, while his father cooked pancakes and eggs. It had been a somber meal, with everyone seemingly stuck inside their own heads.
Now, Tennyson was sitting in Ronan and Truman’s hospital room waiting for Truman to come back from his CT Scan.
“I’ve never seen you look this nervous before a reading,” Ronan said.
Tennyson jumped at the sound of his fiancé’s voice. “Guess I’m a little jumpy too.” He pressed a kiss to Ronan’s temple. “It’s not so much a reading as it is a spiritual hijacking.”
“What do you mean?” Fitzgibbon asked.
Carson sighed. His left foot was bouncing against the linoleum of the hospital room floor. “If we were going to read your parents, it would be easy because you’re in the room. You would be the lure to draw them in. If you weren’t here, it would be harder to connect with them. If we had an item your mother treasured, like her wedding ring, let’s say, that item might draw her to us, like a moth to a flame. We’re going a different route with Jacobson, since we have a part of his body.”
“His hair, you mean?” Fitzgibbon shivered.
“Right,” Carson agreed. “His hair is going to draw him in like a bleeding seal to a shark.”
Ronan visibly grimaced.
“Not a fan of Shark Week, Uncle Ronan?” Greeley climbed up on Ronan’s bed and sat next to him.
Ronan shook his head. “Those poor little seals.”
“Sharks gotta eat too.” Greeley nudged Ronan with his shoulder.
“I guess, but do they have to show it on TV? Oh, the humanity!” Ronan grimaced.
“He’s such a Discovery Channel Drama Queen.” Tennyson rolled his eyes. “He’s like that when they show those baby turtles getting snapped up by birds and crabs too. I end up having to change the channel.”
“Hey! I’ve got three bullet holes in my chest! Can we not talk about the graphic violence BBC America portrays against innocent baby turtles?” Ronan’s eyes were tearing up.
“Wow,” Fitzgibbon muttered under his breath.
“Here we are, Mr. Wesley. Home, sweet, home.” A nurse wearing pink scrubs wheeled Truman back into the room. Carson must have brought him cl
othes. Instead of a hospital gown, he was wearing an old Sox tee-shirt and a pair of navy sweats.
“There’s my hero!” Carson got up from his seat and helped Truman back into bed.
“It feels like someone’s got a jackhammer going against the side of my head.” Truman winced against the bright light of the room.
“Yeah, that’s the concussion,” the nurse said.
“When can he come home, nurse?” Carson asked.
“We’re hoping by the end of the day, but that will be up to the doctor.” The nurse breezed out of the room.
“Have you even seen a doctor?” Fitzgibbon asked.
Truman shook his head no as Carson tucked the covers around him.
“It was the same for me when I was shot. I think I saw the doc three times in the ten days I was in the hospital. They charged me top dollar for the times I did see him though.” Fitzgibbon snarled.
Greeley chuckled. “You’re alive, Dad, and that’s all that matters.
“Tell your college fund that.” Kevin laughed.
“It’s only money. We’ll make more.” Greeley was all smiles.
Ten was impressed with Greeley’s attitude. He knew the teenager was looking forward to getting a part-time job as soon as he passed his GED exams.
“Are we gonna do this thing or are we gonna sit around talking about our feelings and doing each other’s nails?” Ronan asked, sounding grumpy.
“Boy, someone got up on the wrong side of the bed.” Carson laughed.
Ronan pointed across the room. “Your husband snores!”
“He does not! My husband is a perfect angel!” Carson looked offended.
“He’s more like a perfect V-8,” Ronan grumped. “He sounded like a revving engine all night long. Between the Little Deuce Coupe and the friggen nurses coming in all night to check on him, I didn’t sleep at all.”
Tennyson bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud. He’d spent a couple of nights at Carson and Truman’s house in the past and Ronan was right. Truman did snore. Badly. Loudly. The sound reminded Ten of a distant tornado he’d heard back in Kansas.
“What’s so funny, Nostradamus?” Ronan’s bloodshot eyes narrowed.
“Little Deuce Coupe?” Ten lost it and burst out laughing.
“It was the best I could think of on short notice.” Ronan started to laugh too.
“My husband does not snore!” Carson crossed his arms over his chest.
“Yes, I do.” Truman half-whispered. “Sometimes it’s so loud I wake myself up. Now, can we get on with the show so that Ronan and I can take a nap later?” Truman sounded exhausted.
Tennyson hoped they let Truman go home so that Ronan wasn’t stuck with his roommate for another sleepless night. The last thing Ronan needed in his healing process was a restless night.
“Yeah, we can start.” Carson got up and walked over to the chair where Ten was sitting. “Do you have the thing?”
Ten nodded. He’d hated carrying the lock of Rod Jacobson’s hair with him. “It’s in my bag wrapped up in the rosary. There’s holy water in there too, just in case.”
“How did you get holy water?” Greeley asked, peering over the side of the bed.
“When I had the rosary blessed, I asked if the priest would bless my bottle of Poland Spring too. He made the sign of the cross and voila, instant holy water.” Carson grinned at the boy.
Carson dug through the bag until he found the bottle of water with the letter “H” written on the top in black Sharpie. “Here’s the water. He dipped back into the bag and pulled out a box wrapped with a black rosary. “Is this the hair, Ten?”
“Yeah, that’s it.” Ten shivered just looking at it. He understood why Ronan was hesitant to do this, to bring Rod Jacobson back among them, but it had to be done. With shaking hands, Ten unwound the black beads from the box and took off the lid. The brunette hair tied with a ribbon looked so innocuous just sitting there, but Tennyson knew it was pure evil. Once they were finished with this business, he was going to take it outside somewhere and burn it. He’d put out the ashes with holy water.
“You ready?” Carson asked.
“As I’ll ever be,” Ten answered. He took a few deep breaths trying to center himself. It wasn’t working. Ten knew just how much was at stake here. He was going to have to wing it the best he could. “Rod Jacobson, I command you to appear.” Tennyson’s voice was strong, but his insides felt like a quivering mass of Jell-O.
Silence.
Everyone in the room was on edge. Ten could feel it radiating off them like heat from asphalt in the middle of July. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. It was Greeley reaching out to hold Ronan’s hand. Ten noticed Fitzgibbon doing the same thing with Truman.
“Rod Jacobson!” Tennyson said, louder this time. “I command you to appear.”
A dark laughter filled the room.
Ten would recognize it anywhere. He looked over at Carson and knew he could hear it too. “He’s here.”
“Of course I’m here, you son-of-a-bitch. Didn’t have much choice in the matter, now, did I?”
“And he’s pissed!” Carson added.
“This little game where you translate for me is a huge waste of time, why don’t you let me speak through you? Or is that too scary for Ronan’s precious psychic?” Jacobson challenged.
“I don’t think that’s the best idea.” Carson sounded doubtful.
“What’s not the best idea?” Ronan looked back and forth between Carson and Ten.
“He wants me to channel him, so he can speak through me.” Tennyson knew Ronan wasn’t going to go for this idea at all, especially in light of the fact that Jacobson was trying to possess Mark Abruzzi.
“Is this going to help us get to the bottom of what’s going on with Mark?” Ronan asked.
Ten nodded.
Ronan was silent for a moment and seemed to be thinking over the situation. “I know you’re stronger than Jacobson. Take this though.” Ronan handed him the rosary that had been wrapped around the box that held Jacobson’s hair.
Slipping the rosary over his head to wear like a set of Mardi Gras beads, Ten turned back to where Jacobson was standing. “Get away from Greeley, Jacobson.” Tennyson hadn’t meant to snarl, but on the other hand, he hadn’t liked the way the spirit was trying to touch Greeley’s hair either.
“So touchy, Tennyson, sheesh.” Jacobson rolled his eyes.
“Let’s just do this and get it over with.” Tennyson had meant to snarl this time. He didn’t want Jacobson in his head any longer than he had to be.
“What’s happening?” Fitzgibbon asked.
“Ten is going to channel Jacobson. You know, like that scene in Ghost when Patrick Swayze spoke through Whoopi Goldberg?” Carson answered.
“Hello there, ladies and germs!” Jacobson crowed in a voice that wasn’t Tennyson’s anymore. “It’s so nice to see you all again. Truman, it’s a shame that the boy I chose has the arm strength of a seven-year-old girl, otherwise all of your friends might be planning your funeral.”
Truman laughed long and hard. “My six-month olds have better bat speed than Mark Abruzzi. It will be a cold day in hell when I let someone like you beat me, asshole.”
“Hello, Fitzgibbon. You look like you’ve healed nicely since the last time I saw you, bleeding all over the floor of that shitty motel room. Same goes for you, Greeley. You both realize I’m going to kill you, right?”
“No, you’re not.” Greeley laughed. “You’ve tried to kill me three times so far and you’ve failed. All. Three. Times. You’re not going to get a fourth shot at me. Same goes for my father. We brought you here for a reason. You’re going to answer our questions and then my father and I are going to get on with our lives. I’m going to college and my father’s going to get on with the business of falling in love with the man of your dreams!” Greeley waggled his eyebrows.
“Fuck you, little whore. If you think that you can stop me from killing you, you’re dead wrong. I
haven’t made my move on Jace yet, but when I do, there won’t be a drop of blood left in his lifeless corpse. Choke on that, Fitzgibbon.”
“Where did Mark get the lock of hair, Jacobson?” Carson asked, obviously trying to steer the conversation away from Jacobson’s idle threats. “Did he steal it? Or did you give it to him?”
“I gave it to him, though I can see now that was a mistake.” Jacobson crossed Tennyson’s arms over his chest and pouted.
“Why?” Greeley asked. He moved off the bed and came around to stand in front of Tennyson.
“I was grooming him. Why do you care?” Jacobson stared up at Greeley like he wanted to reach over and wrap his hands around the teenager’s throat.
Greeley smiled as if he could read Jacobson’s intentions. “Mark was a sweet kid. I can see why that stupid shit worked with him.”
“Oh, you’re saying it wouldn’t have worked with you? You whores are all the same. Stupid and looking for a sugar daddy.”
Greeley tilted his head to the side as if he were formulating the right response. “No, that wouldn’t have worked with me. Fairy tales only come true in the movies. I would have soaked you for every penny I could have gotten out of you. That was my near-fatal mistake. Money like you were offering the night you almost killed me would have paid for a GED class and would have gotten me off the streets for a few weeks.”
“You wanted the money for a GED class back then?” Fitzgibbon asked. The awe was obvious in his voice.
Greeley nodded, but he didn’t turn around to look at his father. He kept his eyes locked with Tennyson. With the spirit of Rod Jacobson. “I was a whore out of necessity. Not for love of the game. I wasn’t on drugs then. I sure as fuck wasn’t looking for a sugar daddy. I wanted a better life and I wasn’t afraid to work for it. I’m still not.” Greeley took a deep breath. “But we’re not here to talk about me, Jacobson. We’re here to talk about you.”
